


Ashes to Ashes

by silkinsilence



Category: Claymore
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Claymore drabbles in celebration of Femslash February.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cynthia/Yuma

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really want to post these all separately, so I'll just smash them together. Comments greatly appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of child sexual abuse.

_remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return_

"There's nothing here."

There was a note of surprise in her voice like she'd actually expected something else. Her hands were dusty from digging. Her sleeves were torn and ragged and streaked with blood. She'd hardly felt the stones cutting her as she pawed through the rubble.

"I'm sorry," Cynthia said, because she didn't know what else to say. She didn't know what it was like to have a family still alive. The yoma had killed everyone she'd cared about. She hadn't had a past to return to. But it was different for Yuma. Cynthia couldn't really understand why Yuma was so eager to return to a family who had sold her, but she wouldn't judge her.

"Maybe there are bones underneath..." Yuma looked around, more resigned than desperate, but the place was only ruins and more ruins. The only life there stirred in the birds and the insects humming about them. As for people, there were only the two of them; as for humans, there were none.

"They might have gone," Cynthia said. She reached out her hand a little as if to touch Yuma, but they were standing too far apart. "Moved. Just because the house isn't here doesn't mean they're..."

"It kind of feels like the same thing." Yuma kicked a stone aside. She wore not the metal shoes of their uniform but simple leather boots. Both of them had been traveling in civilian clothes. The world wasn't friendly to women with silver eyes. Rumors of the Organization's collapse had exacerbated fears rather than relaxed them; without the enforcement and rules, what was to stop the silver-eyed slayers from preying on humans as they liked?

"I'm sorry," Cynthia said again, and then she did step forward to put a hand on Yuma's arm. "I can't imagine. But you're sure this is the place?"

"As sure as I can be," Yuma said. She shook her head and tried to smile. "Who knows? Maybe I just can't remember right. Maybe the house is still standing somewhere."

"We can keep looking. We can search the nearby towns and villages...we can search the whole island if we need to." They had nothing but time.

"I don't know if I could remember what they looked like. Cynthia, I can't even really remember how long it's been. How long I was with the Organization, how long training was, how long I spent hunting yoma...I don't even know." She was still smiling, but there was an edge and a break in her voice, and her eyes were squinting. Cynthia glanced away to give her the semblance of privacy. "Maybe my parents are dead and my siblings all grown up. Maybe they have children now.

"This was a bad idea," she said, and she slowly climbed down off the pile of rubble. She sat on a loose stone, her long hair falling down in front of her shoulders as her head bowed. Cynthia followed, sitting beside her. "I'm sorry for dragging you out here."

"Why are you apologizing for that?" Cynthia smiled. "There's nowhere I'd rather be. You know that. I'm here because I want to be."

"I don't know why I wanted this. They wouldn't even want to see me, the stupid little sister that disappeared so long ago. They'd probably try to kill us too." Yuma was still trying to smile, but real tears were glittering in her eyes now.

"They're...not your family anymore," Cynthia said carefully. She didn't know if Yuma would react badly. Perhaps it was a sentiment best shared among those whose parents were the victims of yoma.

Yuma looked at her.

"I know."

She seemed to want to talk, so they sat there on the stones as she talked. Cynthia didn't say much at all, but her fingers were interwoven with Yuma's. The wind gained an edge and the sky darkened piece by piece, but the two were unaffected.

"I thought I was my grandmother's favorite. I was named after her—oh, that's a longer story, but I think she took to me because of it. I would always sit with her. She made me dolls and combed my hair. I remember I liked the way she smelled. For my parents I was just one among many, but I was her favorite.

"But she didn't argue at all when my parents decided. She just stood there. And when the man came, and they handed me over, she didn't even cry. And I—"

Yuma's voice broke and she looked away. Cynthia squeezed her hand. The tears were rushing down Yuma's cheeks. Cynthia wished she could cry too, but all she felt was a dull ache. All she could do was squeeze.

"What was the point? I wasn't any good at it. I wasn't angry. I was just scared. I couldn't kill yoma like Miria or Clare. And what was the point if we were going to end up dead all along? If we have to kill each other? All of this happened for nothing!"

There was more anger in her voice than sadness. The weight in Cynthia's stomach grew larger.

"After we destroyed the Organization, I thought it was better. I thought we were _free._ " Yuma spat the word. "But we're still monsters. Someday we all have to go."

It had been a bitter reminder for all of them. Who could have seen it coming? It had been months ago now, maybe even a year, but the sting was fresh. They all remembered Audrey's awakening, the screams of the innocents of Rabona, the disorder in the absence of their captain. Miria had been out with a hunting party, Clare with Irene, and the valuable time before Deneve pulled them all together had been time enough for too many corpses.

Rachel had been at the bottom of the pile. They had buried her and the pieces of Audrey together. Then they had withdrawn once more to the caves and seclusion. Innocents could not be allowed to die.

"I broke the first rule, you know," Cynthia said. She couldn't look at Yuma when she said it. She kept smiling. She tried not to focus too much on the memories.

"What?"

"I killed a human. I was just a trainee."

Yuma was clearly confused by the direction their conversation had taken, but her tears seemed to have slowed as she watched the woman at her side.

"What happened?"

"Some of the Organization's men would pick out girls. Pets. I'm sure you saw it happen," Cynthia said. Her voice was light. She was still smiling. She remembered a smile and a beard scraping her head. He had smelled good when he hugged her.

"You killed one of them for touching you?" Yuma sounded almost in awe, understandably so; Cynthia hardly looked capable of killing a human now, let alone when she was little more than a child.

Cynthia laughed a little. "Not really. It went on for months. I didn't really do anything. But one day I'd gotten hit really hard in the stomach during training, and I felt sick and tired, and when he came...I don't really remember how it happened. I was angry, and he had his sword, and the next thing I knew I was holding it and he was hacked into pieces and there was blood everywhere."

"...That's..." Yuma struggled to find words. Cynthia's lips were still smiling, but her silver eyes were distant. Now it was Yuma's turn to squeeze Cynthia's hand.

"None of the other girls turned me in. It was pure luck. But I kept thinking about it. He probably had a family, I think, a wife and children, and he was just working to support them. And then I took him away. A little monster steals his life."

"You blame yourself? But he...he was hurting you. He deserved it. They cut us open, Cynthia, and turned us into this. That's the price they pay." Yuma's tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving them salty. Her fear and sadness were anger now. Cynthia's anecdote had done its work.

"My family was dead. If the Organization hadn't taken me in, I'd be dead anyway. Life as a monster or death. I don't know what's better," Cynthia went on. Then she turned her head and looked straight into Yuma's eyes, and her gaze was clear and beautiful, though her face was serious. "But I am grateful to them, Yuma. To the Organization."

"What? How?"

"I kept wondering when I was going to die. How long it'd take a yoma or Awakened Being to kill me. I thought I deserved it. But somehow it never happened. I thought at Pieta for sure, and then when the Destroyer was born." Cynthia smiled again. The intense gaze of her silver eyes disappeared as she closed them. "You brought me back. And when I woke up, I realized that I didn't really want to die. I wanted to see you again. To be by your side. And that feeling hasn't gone away."

A blush was more evident on the pallor of a Claymore, and so it was when pink flushed Yuma's cheeks. Cynthia's smile widened.

"We're monsters, Yuma. Or at least I know I am. And maybe someday one of us will awaken. But we have right now. We can't change the past or know what's coming. But being with you, here and now, that's what matters to me."

She was blushing a little too. She could feel it on her cheeks. But Cynthia wasn't thinking about that. She wasn't thinking about the rubble about them or the blood in her past. She was thinking only about Yuma.

"You're right," Yuma said. "And you were right before, too. Even if they are alive, they aren't my family anymore."

The sun was setting behind golden clouds as they kissed, and it was only when the moon rose high above them that the two finally stood to depart. Cynthia took a few steps toward the cover of the trees, then turned back when she noticed Yuma wasn't following.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," Yuma said. Her smile was a little sheepish. "It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"Well, last time I was leaving here, I was leaving home. But now when I'm leaving, I'm going home."

Cynthia smiled. She walked back toward her comrade, and they interlaced their fingers and left the place together.


	2. Teresa/Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting.

The rank of six was enough to send her up against the most fearsome terrors, but a number wasn’t enough to prepare her. She’d been on plenty of Awakened hunts before, slain them herself, but now she was standing alone. Her hands didn’t shake. She was as steady as stone even as terror held her in its iron grip. Perhaps she’d die without lifting a finger.

The man facing her was smiling. It would be easy to mistake him for a human, were it not for the desolate ruins of their surroundings, were it not for the energy she could just barely feel in the air around him.

When her keeper had sent her on this assignment, he’d told her there would be others. She’d arrived a little early, as was her tendency, but she’d expected someone else to be there. She tried not to wonder whether the man before her had already slaughtered them.

“Poor thing. So scared you can’t even move, eh?” His voice was mocking, and that grated on her. But if he wanted to goad her into attacking, he would have to try much harder.

“Mm.” She blinked slowly. Perhaps if she was quick enough, she could cut him into pieces before he took his true form.

“The Organization’s sent a lot of bitches after me. I’m still here; they’re not, and from the looks of you, you aren’t even close to the strongest I’ve faced.” He spat on the ground. Still she didn’t move. She wasn’t entirely certain what she was waiting for, except that as soon as she moved, she wouldn’t be able to take it back. How odd it was to stand there and think that in a few minutes she might not be breathing any longer.

Her sword was hungry and waiting. Speed was all that mattered. She would close the distance between them in an instant and then vivisect him. She knew what the other warriors had begun to call her; now was the time to live up to that name. Every muscle in her arm was ready to release the tension. She imagined the path of her sword, and she let her own youki flow into her fingers. She’d practiced so many times. All she had to do was _cut._

“You a fucking mute, girl? Whatever. You’re boring me.” Irene could see the change, feel the youki erupting from him, and in that instant she leaped forward.

His eyes widened. She was faster than he’d expected. But she didn’t think of victory or hope. She was mindless, waiting for the instant to release her arm.

She felt it an instant before he was within range. It was as though she had been hit. She had never felt any energy as strong as it before, and the fear that had remained within her was abruptly set free. Before the force of that youki, she might as well have been an ant.

Her fear was a distraction, and her cut came a moment too late. Already armor was coating his body, strong enough to stop her blade. The cuts were superficial. Even as he let out a bellow of pained annoyance, he managed to catch her sword and send her toppling to the ground. She was up in a moment, scrambling to get away, but he had caught her ankle and held firm.

“You thought you could cut me with that, you worthless gnat?” His voice was lower now, inhuman, with a brassy timbre. When he forced her onto her back, she saw he had tripled in height, his head like a bull’s, scythed claws extending from four massive arms. “I was number three, you know, and they think they can cut me down with something like you?”

His claw was digging through her arm. She was going to die. She remembered what she had felt, and though his youki now was nothing like the force before, it must have been him. She couldn’t fight against that. She was despairing and oddly serene even as her own youki rushed through her, trying to heal her flesh, trying to give her the strength to escape.

“Oh, don’t _you_ awaken too,” came a new voice.

She turned her head as best she could, even as the minotaur gave a thunderous growl and looked the newcomer’s way as well.

It was another Claymore. Irene didn’t think she had seen her before. What was most striking about the stranger was her demeanor; despite the scene facing her, her sword was only held loosely in one hand, and her lips curved upward.

“You want to get it too?” the Awakened Being snarled. His claw tightened, and a cry tore its way through Irene’s throat.

“Not particularly,” the other Claymore said, shrugging.

“You can run if you want. I’m going to eat your friend’s guts, and then I’ll come after you too.”

“Okay,” she said. “Kill her.”

Despite the pain tearing through her arm, and despite the desperate flow of energy that was trying to push her past her boundaries, Irene found it in herself to feel betrayed.

“You don’t _care_?” One of the Awakened Being’s other claws hovered above Irene’s stomach, surely preparing to deliver a fatal blow.

“I don’t know her. Do what you like.”

The minotaur laughed, almost incredulous. Irene could feel the vibrations tear through her. Alive or dead, all she wanted was for the claws to release their grip on her. She didn’t think she could hold her youki back for much longer.

“Fine! I will. Then I’ll tear you open too, you smirking cunt—”

Irene felt it again, an energy more immense than anything else she’d ever felt sweeping through her. It was stronger this time, hitting her with the force of a great fall, leaving her whole body tingling and her lungs unable to breathe.

She had been watching, but somehow she didn’t even really _see_ the other Claymore move. One instant she was there, and the next she wasn’t, and then something thick and wet was drenching her.

It took a second for her to realize she could breathe again, and then another to realize the weight pinning her down was gone. She jolted up. The arm, its claws still lodged in her skin, was no longer connected to anything at all. Chunks of flesh had found their graves scattered on the ground about her. The beast was unidentifiable.

Irene was _covered_ in blood, and its cloying smell was nearly enough to make her retch. The white of her uniform was surely lost forever. Trying not to breathe in through her nose, she slowly pried the claws free from her flesh. Her youki rushed in to heal the wounds. Only then did she stand, slowly, shakily, and look at the other warrior.

She was still smiling that small smile. Now Irene wondered if she didn’t know who this woman was after all. She was immaculate, not a drop of blood on her even as a gory puddle gathered beneath Irene.

“Sorry I’m late,” the stranger said. “I thought you could handle yourself.” She looked Irene up and down, and then her smile grew just the tiniest bit wider.

“I would have had him at the first if you hadn't—” Irene didn’t finish the sentence. She realized then that she could still feel the youki. It lacked its force, but still it was vast enough to take her breath away. She looked at the other warrior and wondered whether the real monster wasn’t the thing lying in pieces on the ground.

“I wanted to see the quicksword all the others have been talking about,” she said. Her eyes glinted. “It’s probably more impressive when it works.”

Irene wasn’t about to dignify that with a response. She sheathed her sword and turned her back on her comrade. “The mission’s complete. I’m heading back to my territory.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” The stranger caught up with her in a stride. “Irene, isn’t it? I really am sorry. I wouldn’t have let him kill you, you know. And I’m Teresa, by the way.”

“I figured as much.” Teresa of the Faint Smile. Irene had heard myriad things about the warrior standing before her. She hadn’t ever really given them too much thought. Her focus was on her own duties, not on the mythical figure who held the highest rank of them all. “I thought the number one might take her responsibilities more seriously.”

“Are you always this uptight?”

 _Yes._ Irene looked away. “I almost died.”

Teresa’s smile faded, leaving her looking more thoughtful, though amusement still glimmered in her eyes. “You don’t need to run home yet. Let me help you wash off.”


	3. Stormwind Noel/Muscular Sophia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixing business and pleasure.

The building stood deserted, in the rubble of some town that had long since been devastated by yoma attacks. The old inn was crumbling, but less quickly than some of the houses that stood around it. It was really a perfect place, far enough from humans and yoma alike, but close enough to their destination to be convenient.

They hadn’t agreed to meet there. They never really _agreed_ to meet anywhere. Noel had been making her way toward the assigned destination, and she’d felt Sophia’s youki, and here they both were. A smile twisted her lips as she made her way up the old inn’s stairs. They creaked under her weight. Ivy was growing on the walls and wooden pillars. Maybe the two of them would be the necessary impetus to bring the whole place down.

Sophia was lying in one of the only rooms that still had a door. Her armor was off, her hands locked behind her head, her eyes closed. She didn’t move when Noel entered, and she might have been asleep, though Noel knew she wasn’t.

“Who invited you?” Sophia asked. Her eyes opened briefly, looking Noel up and down. “Get your own room for the night.”

“Sorry. You’ll have to chase me away.” Noel unsheathed her sword and let it find its home instead in the old floorboards, but the smile on Sophia’s lips showed she was unimpressed by the threat. “I don’t know if a number four like you can handle it.”

“Tough words from someone who can’t count,” Sophia said breezily. “ _You’re_ number four.”

Noel moved on to the buckles of her shoulder guards. Bit by bit, her armor came off, until she was left only in white cloth. She sighed and stretched out her back. She’d gotten used to leaping and tumbling with the additional weight of her armor, but she still felt most comfortable without it.

“Keep telling yourself that. Besides, if you’re so good at counting, why are you here so early? How long have you been waiting around here?” Noel walked over, and Sophia automatically shifted to make room for her on the bed. It was more comfortable than sleeping on the ground, Noel had to admit, especially when one of Sophia’s arms snaked around her waist.

“I like to get things over with quickly.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Noel snickered. Sophia’s fingers dug into her waist, making her jump a little, and she quieted.

They lay there in silence for a while as the sun went down and the room grew darker and darker. A mouse skittered across the floor, and wind blew hard against the walls, but the two of them were silent. Sophia stroked her fingers mindlessly across Noel’s stomach, and Noel had tangled a hand in the other warrior’s hair.

“Do you know what the mission is?” Sophia asked after a while, after night had fallen completely. Noel’s silver eyes could still make out everything in the darkness, though now it was all monochromatic. “All I heard was that we’re clearing some town of yoma.”

“That’s what I got, too.” Noel shifted to see Sophia’s face. “What, you think there’s more?”

“I could do that alone, and I suppose even you could too. But if it’s both of us?”

“Irene’s coming out too, he told me,” Noel said.

“Irene? Two, three, and four all in the same place?” Sophia’s soft fingers ceased moving. Noel wanted to tell her to continue, as it’d felt good, but she said nothing. “It’s gotta be Awakened Beings. More than one, I’d say.”

“Maybe we’re taking out one of the Abyssal Ones.” Noel lifted her arms above her and cracked her knuckles. Sophia twitched and glared; she hated the sound.

“Can’t be. They’d have told us. And if the Organization’s left them alone for this long, there’d be no reason to start now.”

“Well, if it’s multiple Awakened Beings, we’ll have to see who takes down more.” Noel grinned into the darkness.

“Always the games,” Sophia said, smiling too. Her hands found the hem of Noel’s shirt and slid underneath it. They were pleasantly warm against her skin. “I’m down for a competition. Be prepared to lose, number four.”

“Whoever wins takes three?”

“It’s already mine, but I suppose that’s fair enough.” Sophia’s lips were as warm as her hands when she kissed down Noel’s neck. Noel was content not to respond, just to wrap her arms around Sophia. The bed creaked under them and the wind howled against the walls, but the building remained standing.

“I wonder if Teresa will be there?” Sophia said suddenly, pulling back. Noel was more interested in continuing than responding, but she humored her partner anyway.

“They’d probably have told us. Who knows what she’s off doing? Everyone knows she works alone, anyway.”

“I’ve heard rumors that she and Irene have something going,” Sophia said, and that was enough to pique Noel’s interest.

“Really? Can’t imagine that. Never even seen Quicksword smiling.” Noel tried to imagine it, and then shrugged. “They can do what they want. It’s better not to get attached. I don’t think the Organization likes it when we like each other too much.”

“Better to keep our relationships professional, isn’t it?” Sophia propped herself up on her elbows to look down at Noel. Her wandering hands found Noel’s breasts under the thin fabric of her shirt.

“Like this?” Noel smirked.

“Exactly,” Sophia said, as she leaned down to kiss her.


	4. Teresa/Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from a tumblr anon. Sorry about the switch into present tense! I hope the change from past chapters isn't too jarring.

Teresa’s sword is in the midst of decapitating an unfortunate yoma when she feels the familiar youki in the distance. Her faint smile grows wider, and she lets her dead prey drop to the ground. There are villagers all about her, as usual, gawking, as is usual, but now she has a little more reason to be on her way when she turns to the town’s elder and informs him what to do about the payment. Then she leaves village and dead yoma in the dust.

She tracks the energy to the woods nearby. Her target is also moving, though not as fast as she could. It only takes a few minutes for Teresa to catch up, to see that head of short, pale blond hair bobbing through the trees.

“Were you going to say hello?” she calls. Her characteristic smile has settled upon her lips, though there’s something more genuine in it now than when she’s simply slaughtering yoma.

The other warrior doesn’t jump. She turns, and though her face is more serious than Teresa’s, the sight of company softens her at least a little. There is something quite catlike about Cassandra’s eyes. The light coming through the trees catches them and they glint.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s rude to pass through my territory without a greeting, don’t you think?” Teresa walks closer. There is a large boulder there, settled in between trees and overlooking the stream. She seats herself there. After a moment’s hesitation, Cassandra follows suit. Even sitting, she doesn’t look entirely comfortable; she holds herself as if she’s on edge.

“I’m sorry.” Cassandra looks tired. She stares down at the water running beneath them.

“An Awakened hunt?”

“Yes.”

Teresa liked her number two from the first. They’re both loners, both completing their missions without aid or reinforcements. They’ve never even fought together. Teresa can’t quite remember whether they’ve officially met. Probably the Organization wouldn’t approve of these clandestine meetings, but what her superiors think is the last thing Teresa worries about it.

“How’d you kill it?” she tries.

That earns her a small smile. “It won’t be that easy, Teresa.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Teresa says, catching Cassandra’s eyes with her own and raising her eyebrows. She’s rewarded with a bright blush, and Cassandra’s hardly ever cuter than when she blushes. “Abilities, I mean.”

It would probably be a simple matter to hide her youki, follow Cassandra, and just solve the mystery herself, but Teresa respects Cassandra’s privacy. Besides, the suspense is almost certain to be more enjoyable than the answer.

“I’ll pass today.”

The stream trickles underneath them, and birds call. There doesn’t seem to be much to say, but there’s nothing awkward about the silence. Teresa doesn’t mind the endless solitude that is her existence, but somehow it’s still nice to enjoy even a quiet moment with someone at her side.

“So, you and number thirty-five?”

Cassandra jumps a little. Her cheeks had almost returned to their normal color, but they’re pink again. Teresa’s laugh is short.

“She…talked to me. Everybody else keeps their distance, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of me at all, even after she saw—”

“I’m happy for you,” Teresa says, and it’s the truth. “It’s good to have someone.”

“Who do you have, Teresa?”

The question takes her a little bit by surprise. “I don’t need anyone.”

Cassandra doesn’t say anything else, and it’s just them in the quiet again. They sit like that for a long while, until the sun is turning the leaves around them golden and orange, making the brook at their feet look like flowing fire instead of water.

“I can’t stay forever,” Cassandra says, and she stands slowly.

“It’s always a pleasure.” Teresa stretches. Back to killing yoma. Back to the empty sort of quiet. This is always a lovely diversion, but it’s so small it hardly seems to matter.

Cassandra begins to make her way through the trees, but then she stops and turns back.

“Teresa,” she says more seriously.

“Yeah?”

She pauses, chews on her lip, then says, “You have me.” She nods, her eyes flick down, and then she’s walking away again.

Teresa stares after her. She doesn’t quite know what to make of that. She just wishes they could have sat together on the stupid rock just a little longer.


	5. Miria/Hilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forest cuddles.

“You’ve gotten a lot better,” Hilda said.

The forest floor didn’t make for a comfortable bed, but the warriors known as Claymores were used to sleeping on the ground. Hilda thought it was worth it to be able to look up and see the stars through the leaves. The black of the sky looked as if salt had been sprinkled across it. The stars gathered in a great band where the sky lightened, almost more blue than black. She stared up at the heavens and those distant points of light, and even though she had seen it a thousand times, it never seemed any less brilliant to her.

The woman resting on her chest shifted. Miria might have been more comfortable, but Hilda thought she still had the better view: Miria’s face and the star-spattered blackness beyond it.

Summer was giving way to autumn, but the nights were still pleasant enough that no fire was necessary. Warriors were naturally hardier than humans. But it was even less necessary when the two of them lay together, their legs tangled, their armor and swords set aside and forgotten. Hilda stroked Miria’s skin and it seemed to her incredibly warm.

“So have you.”

Hilda smiled gently. “I’m serious, Miria. You have talent and dedication. You’re a natural leader. Today’s hunt wouldn’t have gone half as easily if I had anyone else by my side.”

Miria said nothing. Her cheeks might have flushed a bit, but in the dark it was hard to tell. She wasn’t good at taking compliments, no matter how often Hilda bestowed them on her.

“Though if your rank gets high enough, we won’t be sent out together any longer.”

“Well, I should stop getting better then.” Miria smiled, but her voice was humorless. “You…matter more to me than rank.”

Hilda smiled. She had so many things she needed to say. She needed to tell Miria about how difficult it had been to pull back her youki during their fight. About how each time it surged more powerfully and was tougher to suppress. She could feel it even then, as they lay peacefully, a heat and a hunger that raced through her veins. She wasn’t sure whether Miria’s gentle touches exacerbated or relieved it.

Most of all, she needed to tell Miria of the unfortunate duty which would soon fall into her lap. Hilda didn’t know whether it would be one more hunt. Perhaps she could hold out for five. Part of her wanted to speak up then and there and tell Miria to kill her while they lay there. If she could choose, she wanted her last moments to be underneath the stars with someone she loved.

But she said nothing. Strongest was the desire to keep holding Miria, keep stroking her hair and hearing her voice. She wanted to steal all the moments she could. They seemed so much more precious now.

“Don’t worry about me. Go as high as you want. Become so strong no enemy will ever be able to touch you. You need to look after yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m holding you back?” Miria was smiling again.

“No. You’re my best partner. The only one that matters.” Hilda knew that if she kept talking, she would give herself away, but she couldn’t help herself. “We fight together.”

“I’ve got your back,” Miria agreed, and her hands cradled Hilda’s face between them.

“I’ve got yours.” Hilda bit back the guilt and managed to hold in the tears so Miria couldn’t feel them on her cheeks when she kissed her.


	6. Clare/Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching from a distance.

The world has not looked so beautiful before.

The two of them pass through woods and fields, over rivers, in between hills. There is nothing new about any of it, but somehow it is all lovely. Jean stares at mountains in the distance, villages just visible from atop cliffs, the blue of the sky, and it seems as if she is finally seeing everything as it was meant to be seen.

Most of all she watches Clare as they walk. She has become very accustomed to the sound of those feet treading on the forest floor, or on the road, or wading through water. The faint sense of Clare’s youki in the air is familiar too, as is the foreign energy of one of her arms.

It has been perhaps a week since Clare took Jean from Riful’s hands, but Jean feels as if she has known the warrior walking in front of her forever. She has always trusted her comrades, but this is more than that. Clare pulled her back from a fate worse than death. She had nothing to gain, but she held Jean and believed in her. Hope was such a foreign thing to feel in that hole in the ground. It still stirs in Jean whenever she looks at Clare, whenever she wonders whether she is still in Riful’s clutches and this is a fever dream to flee the pain.

Clare’s number means nothing. It hardly surprised Jean to learn it, but the Organization has made a mistake, surely. Jean has fought the rare mission with higher numbers than even her, has even served alongside God-Eye Galatea, but Clare outpaces them all.

They don’t speak as they travel. Jean is content to follow. Clare has asked quite a few times now how long Jean intends to keep it up, but her answer remains unchanged. She will not leave. Clare doesn’t need her, certainly doesn’t need protection, but Jean’s life is hers nonetheless. To leave now would be ripping open a wound Jean didn’t know she had until it was healed.

It is the dedication of one warrior to another. It is the bond of Clare saving her life. That is all it is, and all it has to be. Jean is not a person anymore, but a soldier, and to want anything else would be improper. She tells herself that as they walk, and then she tells herself that it doesn’t hurt at all. How ungrateful it would be for such a thing to hurt when she is alive.

They are passing by crumbling ruins one evening when Jean feels the change in the air. There are three yoma, smart enough to be silent, but they have been foolish in their choice of target. She draws her sword mindlessly and they are dead before she realizes that they were attacking Clare, not her.

Clare stands a little way back, her silver eyes glaring.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” Jean does know. _But now you don’t have to,_ she wants to say. She doesn’t.

She sheathes her sword again.


	7. Roxanne/Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapped around her finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some disturbing undertones here; please proceed with caution.

“You’re not so scary at all, are you?”

Cassandra is still breathing heavily. Her head is dizzy with aftershocks of pleasure and the discomfort that always follows. She always wants to be alone with herself. She feels dirty and wrong, a sensation only enhanced by the soft hands that continue to roam across her bare skin. It would perhaps be a simple thing to release her youki and force Roxanne away, but the thought has never so much as crossed her mind. Cassandra’s retreat is inward, still and quiet, as she feigns deafness and muteness.

“You’re just shy. You keep your distance because you’re scared of people, not because you think you’re above them.”

Cassandra looks away. It’s very easy to pretend to not be able to hear her, but it’s much harder to not listen at all. Roxanne knows so much, and it makes her uneasy. But isn’t it ungrateful to be uneasy when Roxanne is the only person who’s ever bridged the gap? When she’s the only friend Cassandra’s made among the warriors? When even now her fingers gently tease the sweet spot between Cassandra’s thighs?

The men of the Organization have poked and prodded Cassandra, taken her blood and disfigured her body, seen her inside and out, but somehow with Roxanne her nakedness feels far more vulnerable.

She focuses on the sound of wind. The field’s tall grasses do a good job of hiding the pair from prying eyes, but still Cassandra feels exposed. Her armor and sword lie a few feet away. She wishes they were closer. After she peaks, being touched becomes loathsome. She stares up at the grey clouds creeping across the sky and tries not to pay too much attention to Roxanne’s lips on her stomach, her breasts, teasing the edge of the _wound—_

“Ow!” She can’t help the exclamation, and Roxanne pulls back at once.

“Sorry.” All sugar and contrition.

“No, it’s…fine,” she mumbles. But now that she’s done feigning muteness, she might as well say more. Friends are for talking to,  are they not? Her words have been locked inside for so long that Cassandra has difficulty forcing them out. “I don’t like them putting me on a pedestal. They’d laugh if they saw…if they knew. I’m nothing really.”

“It’s true. They wouldn’t be so in awe of you then.” Roxanne kisses her neck and her throat. Cassandra tenses involuntarily, then reprimands herself. There is nothing dangerous here. She has spent too long as a warrior, she thinks. She needs to remember how to be a person too. “A desperate, graceless ability, isn’t it?” She gives a little laugh.

Cassandra tries to pretend it doesn’t sting. Why should the truth hurt?

“But it doesn’t matter. It suits you. And you don’t have to tell anyone else. I’ll keep your secret, Cassie, and you know I love you.”

She’s made her way up to Cassandra’s lips. Cassandra opens her mouth, a little unwilling. Roxanne tastes sweet. Her kisses are addictive. Her long curls brush Cassandra’s bare skin. The discomfort is still there, and Cassandra is tense against the ground, but that is nothing. Surely it is all only in her head.

She’s safe.


	8. Helen/Deneve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping warm.

Deneve liked the snow. The cold, sterile beauty of the north had appealed to her from the first. It was their kingdom now, a domain for just the seven of them. She and Helen had wandered among the peaks and valleys together, Helen usually complaining all the way. The north wasn’t for her, not when the only green came in late summer and was gone by autumn.

But today the clouds were nowhere to be found, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the sight of jagged white peaks surrounding them on all sides was stunning enough that even Helen couldn’t seem to find anything to fault.

The rocks were cold but free of snow, and after so long in their barren home, the cold was nothing more than a mild irritant. Deneve stretched out on the stone and felt the sun on her face. Helen was warm next to her. It was nice to pretend, for a few moments at least, that it was just the two of them. No Organization, no graves at Pieta, no world at all beyond the ring of mountains. Was this what normal humans felt like, she wondered?

Despite the massacre and the training, the time in the north had been the first time that Deneve could really remember ever feeling at peace. She thought she could see it in the others, too. Clare was consumed by her search for the boy, and Miria by her mission, but for the rest of them it was the first time they’d ever been free. No incessant yoma hunts, no wary humans, just Helen by her side and the barren world around them.

A strong gust of wind caught and played with her hair. Goosebumps raised on her skin, a reminder that she’d left her clothes pinned under a rock a few feet away. She sat up.

Helen caught her arm.

“Where’re you going? Come on, I’m sleepy.”

“I’m cold.”

“Lay back down. You’re the one who likes this weather, remember? I’ll keep you warm.” Helen grinned. So cocky. So carefree. But then, she’d always been like that, even before Pieta. Nothing fazed her. It had bothered Deneve when they first met.

“You’re doing a lousy job of it,” Deneve said, but she didn’t stand.

“I had an idea.” Helen leaned in until their faces were inches apart. Her hair was disheveled. Deneve had left knots in it.

“That’s a first.”

“Ha. Well, it’s been a couple of days since we’ve sparred.”

“You’d rather train than keep lying here? That’s a first.”

“Hold on.” Helen’s smile became more wolfish. “I didn’t say we’d put on our clothes first.”

Deneve raised her eyebrows incredulously and then snorted. Helen was such a child. But the sun was warm on her skin, and she would be a liar if she said the idea did nothing for her. They were free, free to obey every stupid whim that crossed their minds.

“You’re on. But I won’t go easy on you.”


	9. Galatea/Miria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you take a hit.”

Miria winced. It didn’t really hurt; Galatea’s hands were careful as they surveyed the wound, but her pride had taken a knock nonetheless. It had been a stupid moment of hesitation, and the emotions it had dredged up were far more painful than the gash traversing her side.

“My youki’s fine. I can heal it myself.”

The blind warrior drew back her hands. “Suit yourself.”

Miria leaned her head back against the bark of the tree and gritted her teeth. It was a simple enough matter to release the energy flowing through her, and in a few seconds muscle and gut and skin were stitching themselves together once more even as she watched.

“What happened? All I felt was your sword-arm falter, and then it got you.”

It was strange to be reminded of Galatea’s blindness. Even looking at her, the scars across her face and the milky clouds that had taken over her once-silver eyes, sometimes it was hard for Miria to remember. Galatea walked and fought as if she saw more keenly than any of the other warriors. The title of God-Eye might have been boastful when she still served the Organization, but now it was surely true.

Miria frowned. The skin of her side was itching and tingling, a familiar but unpleasant side-effect of regeneration. All of it reminded her of waking up in the caves, remembering seeing Hilda, knowing that her own sentiment had been her undoing.

“We killed the first one, and when I turned on the second…” Miria clearly remembered seeing those careful eyes and the braids. “For an instant, I thought she was Tabitha.” Then the Awakened Being’s face had stretched into a vicious smile and pain had torn through Miria’s side. A single stupid mistake. That brief instant had been enough to remind her vividly of seeing Tabitha torn apart. She had been in the highlands, fighting remnants with Galatea, but in that moment she was facing Priscilla once more, and her lieutenant was in pieces on the ground. Miria didn’t remember exactly what had happened after the Awakened Being got her. When she had come back to herself, she had been lying on the ground, their enemies dead and Galatea standing over her. If God-Eye hadn’t been there…

“Ah…” Galatea said nothing more. There were birds chirping in the branches about them, far too cheery a sound for the flood rushing through Miria’s head.

Hilda had been first. Then she’d let Flora be cleaved in two. She’d failed Jean and Veronica and Undine too. Of all the warriors who had entrusted themselves to her leadership at Pieta, only a woefully small percent had survived. She had stopped Tabitha from following her to the Organization because she had refused to let it happen again.

But it had anyway.

“I know you won’t really listen when I tell you this,” Galatea said slowly, “and I know guilt isn’t rational. But you have saved far more than you have lost.”

“It’s not—”

“The girls on this island. All of them. All of the ones who would be stolen away and turned into monsters. You gave them a future.”

Miria looked up. She had not thought of that before.

“The humans who would fall victim to yoma. And the warriors, too. They’re happy. They’re free. They aren’t tools any longer. You gave them personhood again.”

Miria shook her head. It was hard to think of these things. Tabitha was still central in her thoughts. The people she had seen die, all of their names and faces, were far more real and concrete to her than the nameless ones of whom Galatea spoke.

“I can’t say I know what it feels like.” Galatea was smiling a little. “Before…all of this, I was never one to reach out to the others. I fought alone. It’s a little strange now, if I’m honest. But it’s easy to see what all of them saw in you. Your friend Hilda, and Tabitha too—they would be proud if they saw you. You changed the world.”

Miria felt as if something was lodged in her throat. The things she was feeling now, though different, still weren’t entirely pleasant. She didn’t want to cry.

“I suppose I should apologize for dragging you along with me,” she said, trying to smile. “I didn’t imagine you’d need to look after me.”

“I don’t mind being your eyes,” Galatea said. Then, “You’ve already become my heart.”


	10. Ophelia/Deneve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught in the crosshairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an odd pairing, another request on tumblr, and the last chapter here. These were all fun to write! I'd love to write more Claymore fic, but I just don't have many ideas, so it was nice to force myself to do some.

Deneve was frozen.

It had happened so fast that she hadn’t even been able to see very much, let alone do anything. The monster before them had grabbed Number 14 in its jaws and shaken her like a doll. The crack of her spine breaking was still echoing in Deneve’s ears. An instant later a sword had cleaved the beast apart, and now Awakened One and warrior alike lay in pieces in the dust.

“Oh, I forgot about you!”

Her voice was so chipper. Number 4 turned away from the mess she had made, seemingly indifferent to the corpses of either friend or foe. She was smiling, and her eyes were silver again. It had been quick enough that Deneve hadn’t seen them go gold, but she had felt the rush of energy.

She was far more afraid now than she had been while the Awakened Being had been alive. The urge to turn and run was very strong, but predators were more likely to chase things that ran. Instead Deneve simply stood there, her face still, her gaze torn between 4 and the dead girl on the ground.

“You let it kill her.” Of that she was quite certain. 4 had shouted an order, 14 had obeyed, but there had been no one to protect her after all when the beast descended.

“That’s not fair. I always try my hardest.”

Ophelia continued across the clearing until she was barely a foot away from Deneve. Still Deneve didn’t move. She wasn’t sure if she _could,_ but nonetheless she refused to give an inch against the warrior facing her.

“You told her to go left, that you’d cover her.”

“I didn’t say that!” As quickly as it had eviscerated the Awakened Being, Ophelia’s sword was suddenly an inch from Deneve’s face. The sudden flick sent blood splattering onto her. Somehow she managed not to flinch, and Deneve thanked all the gods in the world for stopping her from showing that weakness.

Then Ophelia smiled, and the blade was tucked away in its sheath again.

“My mission was to execute a voracious eater, and I did that, didn’t I? She just happened to provide the perfect cover. She should be happy! It’s the closest she’s ever come to killing one herself.”

Suicidal, probably, but Deneve couldn’t stop anger from taking her face. For an instant hatred was stronger than fear. She hadn’t known 14, hadn’t ever met her before, but they were comrades. They fought together. It was one thing to sacrifice oneself, but another entirely to throw another’s life away.

“You didn’t need cover. You could have killed it on your own.” Deneve’s voice didn’t shake. Quiet but strong. She’d heard one of the others call her that and had wanted to laugh. It was all an act. She pretended in the foolish hope of convincing herself.

“Well…maybe you’re right.” Ophelia tapped a finger to her lips. Her silver eyes were wide as she considered. “But I didn’t like how she looked at me.”

Again, it was too fast for Deneve to move; one instant 4 was standing before her, and the next she felt something collide with her, pushing her back until her head hit the dirt.

“Like how you keep glaring at me, Twenty. I don’t like that.” Ophelia’s mouth found the spots of blood she’d stained upon Deneve’s white shirt. Deneve could feel the wetness, the gentle probe of her tongue. It was revolting. Ophelia’s hands were holding her down, but even if they hadn’t been, Deneve didn’t know if she would have had the courage to move. Always a statue. Always still when it mattered the most.

“Maybe instead of worrying about her, you should be glad that she was more responsive than you.” One hand tangled in Deneve’s short hair and pulled, hard. The pain was sudden and sharp enough to make a gasp slip from Deneve’s lips.

Ophelia finished sucking what blood she could. She moved upward instead, burying her face in the crook of Deneve’s neck. Deneve could feel warm breath washing against her skin. Her heart was pounding loudly enough in its cage that she was sure Ophelia could feel it.

“I’d like to see you all red and broken instead, Twenty,” Ophelia sighed. The words tickled Deneve’s throat. She had half a notion that 4 was going to kill her and be done with it, and she wouldn’t have raised a finger to defend herself.

Then, as suddenly as she’d been pushed down, she was free. Ophelia was strolling away. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and turned back to smile.

“Of course, there are always other hunts. Be seeing you.”

It took a long time for Deneve to move again, and a longer time for her to dig a proper grave for 14.


	11. Galatea/Miria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, hurt/comfort-ish.

The grave is outside the walls of Rabona. The bishop offered them a tomb in the cathedral, undoubtedly a great honor, but Miria turned him down. At the time, she said that it was not Tabitha's city, and the warrior would have preferred the wilderness. Now, Galatea thinks that perhaps Miria had ulterior motives. It is easier to let her walls down and grieve out here, with nothing but trees and animals for company.

The grave is where she finds the Phantom. She knew where Miria was going hours ago; she has picked up the habit of monitoring her captain's youki. A visit to the grave is not unusual, and had it been just that, Galatea would have let her stay there alone. She deserves some privacy, at least. But then, when hours passed and she did not return, when the air grew cool and the sounds of the city died down, Galatea followed.

Day and night makes little difference to her now, except that as she moves among the trees she hears an owl calling. She has gotten used to life in the city, and being outside feels odd. It is reminiscent of the time before she lost her eyes, years and years ago, when she walked from village to village and slayed yoma and Awakened Beings on the Organization's orders.

A different lifetime, really. She has seen and done so many things.

Miria is sitting with her back against a tree. Tabitha's resting place is beautiful, a clearing among the trees. Now that it is springtime, there are flowers blooming. Galatea feels each as a tiny point of energy. In the center, she knows, Tabitha's claymore is stood in the soil. A warrior's grave.

"I didn't ask for you to come after me," Miria says. Her voice is steady, though Galatea can tell that she has been crying.

"I didn't want you to have to be alone." Galatea settles herself on the earth, close enough to touch, far enough to give her space.

They sit in silence together. It is peaceful out here in the dark. The pair of them fear neither yoma nor bandits. _They_ are the most dangerous things in the night. Galatea sits and listens. A distant stream rattles over stones. She can hear the same owl still crying. Some other nighttime creature rustles in the bushes. And Miria breathes in and out, in and out, warm and alive.

After a while, Miria reaches for her hand, and speaks.

"She deserves the happiness we have now. She should have lived to see it."

"Yes," Galatea agrees. She thinks of her own gravestones. They are fewer; she does not easily attach herself to others. A fellow trainee; the previous number 3...

Death was easier before the Organization's fall. Dying was the only way warriors could know peace. But now they're free, and the dead are still dead.

"You've done so much," she tries. She rubs her thumb across the warm skin of Miria's hand. "You've done enough. You don't need to regret."

"No." Miria shakes her head. She is crying again. "Not enough. I couldn't save everyone. The ones who mattered most—I failed them. Tabitha. Hilda."

Hilda. A story Galatea only vaguely knows. Miria mentions her, but never says more. There is some wound there, deeper and unhealed.

As is so often the case, Galatea does not know what to say. She would rather be silent than offer words of false comfort. All she can do is draw Miria close to her, hold her. In the here and now, they are together, and she knows that Miria has done all she can. She will say it until she convinces her.

They stay pressed together at the base of the tree all night. Miria rests, drifting in and out of slumber. Galatea stays awake. She feels the pulse of life around her, the heartbeat of the woman she holds. And though she cannot feel any youki, she thinks of ghosts in the clearing with them, watching over them.


	12. Miria/Hilda

It catches her by surprise when she realizes.

She cannot say when it happened. Indeed, the past years of her life have coalesced into a blur of sensation and suppressed memories. Even such simple markers as how long it has been since she was taken from her family elude her. In flashes she remembers the operation, try though she might, as all of them do, to forget it. But she does not know when it was. Perhaps it has been a year; perhaps a decade. She exists from one moment to the next without connecting them. Blood on her hands and yoma to slay. The Organization’s men inspecting her, disciplining her, giving her orders. This is her life, will be her life until she makes some fatal mistake.

But there is something else now too.

She remembers meeting Hilda for the first time. How strong she seemed then, how confident, how in control of herself. Such traits are not rare among the warriors. When they have so little but their own abilities, how are they not to take pride in them?

No, her strength is not what Miria remembers. She remembers the smile and the touch of their hands. She remembers a sword intercepting a blow meant for her. Her legs had frozen. She expected to die. But then Hilda was there, and the monster was dead, and there was a voice asking if she was all right. When she cried, it was because of the question, not the fear.

The men of the Organization do not ask such questions of their living weapons. Such kindness was rare from other trainees, all too scared for themselves. Even the family she vaguely remembers from when she could truly be called a human was large and harried, and she was one child among many, with nobody to look out for her.

Silver-eyed slayers, humans call them. Killing machines. But Hilda saved her life and took her hand and showed her a kindness she had never known before.

In the darkness of night after a joint mission, they fail to return to their separate territories. Neither says much, but with their foe’s body in pieces just meters away, Hilda sinks down to rest her back against a tree, and Miria follows.

She dares to reach for Hilda’s hand. She’s so warm. Their fingers lace together, but they say nothing, just breathing together in the dark.

Tomorrow they will have to part. Their handlers will find them and give them new assignments. But for now they are alone, and Miria is very glad for it. This moment is theirs. She can hold onto it without any men in black coming to rip it from her.

Hilda pulls their hands apart. Her fingers gently stroke Miria’s wrist, up her arm. The cloth of her shirt is in the way, but it is thin enough that Miria can still feel it, and it feels lovely. Almost mindlessly, she moves closer until they are sitting right beside each other. The tree is broad enough to provide a resting place for both of them.

The next mission could be the end for either of them. They’ve made mistakes in the past and they’ll make them in the future. It’s only luck that determines what slip-ups are fatal. Perhaps it is foolish to enjoy this even as she knows that. It would be easier not to care. Someday they both will die. They are designed to be disposable.

But it does not seem to matter in this moment. It does not matter when Miria’s head falls onto Hilda’s shoulder, when Hilda’s arm wraps around her. What matters is only the person beside her. They are alive. And for the first time since she was taken into the Organization, for perhaps the first time in her life, Miria feels warm.

  



	13. Deneve/Helen

“Deneve.”

She’s breathing. Her youki is steady. Even before Helen’s eyes, her flesh is knitting itself back together. The wound wasn’t that severe after all—she’s seen her sister-in-arms suffer much worse. She remembers the fateful hunt years ago when the four of them first met. She’s not normally one for dwelling on things like that, for giving the past much thought at all, but when things look bad all her mistakes come rushing back.

“It was a stupid idea after all,” Deneve manages. She tries to sit up, but Helen’s hands are on her shoulders, pinning her down. Deneve looks annoyed at that, and the expression is reassuring in itself.

“Of course it was a stupid idea. That’s all we ever come up with.” Well, maybe she should just speak for herself. But Deneve usually plays along. She just needs someone else, someone more impulsive, to give her the necessary push.

“Isley’s dead,” Deneve says, finally laying back down on the leafy forest floor.

The woods are quiet and peaceful, just the two of them. It reminds Helen of the old days and the interludes they spent together. The North was all mountains and barren stretches of ice and rock. It’s rained recently and the leaves and mud are damp underneath. Her knees are getting soggier with every passing second, but she couldn’t care less. She’s alive. They’re alive. They faced an Abyssal One and came away intact. She— _she crossed swords with Isley of the North._

It doesn’t feel real, but sooner or later it will. Soon this will be something she’ll brag about to the others when they reunite. She can already see the open awe on Yuma’s face, the disapproval on Miria’s…

“Those things were fucking creepy.”

“We need to warn the others. With a weapon like that, maybe the Organization’s trump card isn’t Alicia and Beth any longer. Fighting them…”

“What are you worried about? We’ll cut them up. There’s only one of Isley; there’s seven of us.”

Deneve shakes her head and brings up a hand to cover her mouth, but not quickly enough to hide her smile.

“Look where cockiness got us this time.”

“Yeah—we’re alive!”

Helen whoops and then laughs, and the sound echoes off the trees around them. It’s been hours now, hours since Isley cut into Deneve, since they stood with Dietrich and watched the Abyss Feeders tear the Abyssal One apart. But the adrenaline still hasn’t dissipated. She had been so certain she was going to die. Granted, she’s thought that more than once since the Organization took her, but never like this.

“Helen.”

Sure she’s about to receive a rebuke for her lightheartedness, her carelessness, Helen looks back down at Deneve. But the expression awaiting her isn’t stern, but soft. It catches her by surprise and she finds she can’t look away.

“You fought him.”

“Well, yeah,” she says, not understanding. “I wasn’t just going to go down without a fight.”

“You could have tried to run. You might have gotten away.”

“And leave you? Slim chance.”

Deneve smiles, and _shit_ it’s nice.

“Thanks,” she says, and pulls her down. It’s a soft kiss, brief, gentle.

“You know I’m not going anywhere without you,” Helen says. She tries to grin but doesn’t quite manage it.

“We should meet up with Clare and the others.”

Helen is disappointed by the change of topic; it’s rare to catch Deneve open and affectionate, especially now that they’re back in the south. But before the feeling has a chance to settle in, there’s an arm snaking around her waist and pulling her in again.

“But I don’t think my shoulder’s healed yet,” Deneve says, face absolutely serious. “We’d better wait a few more hours at least.”


	14. Roxanne/Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for emotional abuse/manipulation,

To say that she enjoys how easily flustered Number One is would be a vast understatement.

_How did you get this far?_ she wants to ask when she sees Cassandra shift awkwardly and flush, turn her face away as though that will hide her embarrassment. She can cut down awakened beings as easily as if they were insects, but the merest smile and raise of the eyebrow has her red and discombobulated.

_You shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve,_ she wants to say. It would be practical advice for a warrior. But Roxanne loves it, so those words will never leave her lips. Combat strength isn’t everything, and Cassandra will learn that one day. One day soon.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Roxanne breathes, the first time they come face-to-face. There is nobody else, just the rocks and the clouds to pay witness to this meeting. No prying eyes of the Organization. She’s wondered before how much they know about her. Do they let her carry on out of ignorance or curiosity? She is a weapon, after all, honed to their purposes. Can they really object so much if she carries out her own objectives along the way?

Cassandra’s cheeks provide all the warm color necessary in this barren landscape. She looks away. She doesn’t know what to say; that much is obvious. Isn’t she used to being idolized? Number One always stands apart from the other warriors, an object of respect or hate or envy.

Or love.

Or all those things.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Roxanne says. She steps closer. Cassandra doesn’t move. She is no huntress like this. She is frozen to the spot. Roxanne wants to touch her red cheeks and see how warm they feel. She wants to see if those lips are more suited to kissing than speaking. She wants to slip her hands under the thin white shirt and feel Cassandra’s skin, her breasts, her _scar._

It’s been a while, she supposes. Can the other warrior see the lust in her eyes? Has she heard rumors? Does she know what it is to be loved?

“Why?” Cassandra finally asks, short and to the point.

“Look at you. You’re incredible.” Roxanne lets her eyes wander up and down. “You fight alone, but you always win. You never even get a scratch on you.”

She moves closer. Quite close now, barely a foot between them. She stares up into Cassandra’s pale, clear eyes. Silver like her own, like all of theirs. She imagines them flashing gold.

“How do you do it?” she murmurs.

Cassandra’s cheek feels burning hot under her gentle fingertips. Her thin lips part but she says nothing, just swallowing. Her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated.

Roxanne smiles and goes for the kill.

“How did you get this far?” she asks, months later, in between sucking pretty bruises onto Cassandra’s bare neck and shoulder. “You’re a disaster.”

Cassandra shifts silently underneath her. Roxanne moves her fingers, feels her _lover_ shudder.

“At least you have me,” she coos, and bites again.

  



End file.
